


Hunting

by servantofclio



Series: Maeve Surana [11]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4931101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servantofclio/pseuds/servantofclio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor might not be willing to take certain steps, but Surana is. Trespasser spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunting

“The Dread Wolf, you say,” Maeve Surana said, tilting her head. “In the actual flesh?”

She listened as the Inquisitor kept explaining, resting her cheek upon her fist. She kept her expression calm and attentive as the Inquisitor told her tale of eluvians and qunari and ancient elven gods. Ancient elven gods who had every intention of bringing the lost days of Arlathan back, no matter what the cost to the present inhabitants of Thedas. Inside, Surana’s heart was racing, but she had ample practice at not betraying her agitation, and showed no more than a frown.

Eventually, the Inquisitor stopped talking. She drew a long breath, rubbing her hand over her face. “I know it’s probably foolish, but I still hope we can stop him. Make him see reason, even. He’s a reasonable person, Solas, and he’s been a… a friend. I truly believe he regrets everything. I don’t want to give up on him.”

“Of course you shouldn’t,” Surana said, even though the Inquisitor’s words confirmed her suspicion. 

The Inquisitor looked at her with wide eyes. “He must have told me for a reason. Maybe he hopes we’ll try to stop him?”

“Perhaps,” Surana agreed, and offered a sympathetic smile. “How’s the arm?”  
The Inquisitor rubbed her truncated arm self-consciously. “It’s… all right. The pain is less, anyway. I haven’t really adjusted to it yet. Still haven’t figured out how to deal with my weapons.”

Surana nodded, still sympathetic. “I wish there were something I could do to help,” she said truthfully. Her spirit senses told her, though, that there was nothing wrong with the Inquisitor, no wound, no illness in need of her healing.  
“It’s all right.” The Inquisitor’s gaze was intent. “You can help by helping us track him down.”

“Of course,” Surana said. “Might I make use of your library? I may be able to piece some things together.”

First, though, she took an hour to wander around Skyhold alone.

They called it Skyhold, but it had borne other names. She went about the keep with her head cocked, paying less attention to her eyes than how her connection to the Fade tugged at her. A place of great power, once, a place that had seen its share of battles and lords. A place that had been a refuge, and not the first such she had found. She was no dwarf, but she traced over the stone with her fingertips and felt how the oldest stones spoke to her. She paced through the tower, head thrown back to see the great paintings that arched above her.

At length, she found her way to the library — not the sunlit, comfortable room in the tower, but the other library, the one deep beneath the keep. There she brushed away cobwebs and sought out the oldest tomes, conjuring veilfire to read them by. Surana read the old elvhen tongue better than most; she had not spent the last decade seeking out lost and forgotten knowledge for nothing. She read until her eyes stung and her neck ached with fatigue, and then she returned the last tome to its place and conjured a veil of dust to cover them all. No one following her would have any sign of which volume she had touched.  
When she left the library, it was past twilight, and she was already turning over plans in her mind. She had learned a thing or two about Fen’harel in the last decade, as well, enough to know the Dalish tales about him held more fancy than truth. But nor were they without truth, and she had no reason to believe the Inquisitor would lie to her. 

But would the Inquisitor do what needed to be done? She saw Fen’harel as a friend and mentor; it would be easy for her to hesitate, to flinch, to try to persuade rather than to strike. It was a weakness, in this situation. Surana suffered no such affliction. 

She crossed the courtyard to the tavern and made her way inside, trading the cool of evening for the warmth and bustle of the place, all music and laughter and people dancing. She slid into her seat beside Zevran and leaned against his shoulder with a sigh.

“Ah, you join us at last, amora. I was beginning to think I must seek you out myself.” His fingers unerringly found the sore spots in her neck and shoulders, rubbing out the strain.

“No need for that, though I’d thank you for a glass of wine.”

“As you command, my heart.” Zevran waved to the bartender, and moments later a young woman carried a glass to them. He waited while Surana took her first sip and sighed again, relaxing into her seat. “Did you have a good talk with our Inquisitor?”

“Mm. It was… enlightening.”

“Do we leave in the morning?” he inquired in a low voice, still the very picture of ease.

Surana thought about testing her magic against the Dread Wolf himself, and a tight smile pulled at her lips. She turned to whisper in Zevran’s ear. “Yes, mi amor. Tomorrow, we go hunting.”


End file.
